his
heavy eyes and looked about him. The misty rime of the night had frozen
on hills and woods and river,--frosted the whole earth in one
glittering, delicate sheath. The first level bar of sunlight put into
the nostrils of the dead world of the night before the breath of life.
Once in a lifetime, maybe, the sight meets a man's eyes which Yarrow saw
that morning. The very clear blue of the air thrilled with electric
vigor; from the rounded rose-colored summits of the western hills to the
tiniest ire-cased grass-spear at his feet, the land flashed back
unnumbered soft and splendid dyes to heaven; the hemlock-forests near
had grouped themselves into glittering temples, mosques, churches,
whatever form in which men have tried to please God by worshipping Him;
the smoke from the distant village floated up in a constant silver and
violet vapor like an incense-breath. Neither was it a dead morning. The
far-off tinkle of cowbells reached him now and then, the cheery crow
from one farm-yard to another, even children's voices calling, and at
last a slow, sweet chime of churchbells.

"They told me it was Christmas morning," he said, pulling off the old
cap again.

Yarrow's chin had sunk on his breast, as his eager eyes drank all this
morning in. He breathed short and quick, like a child before whom some
incredible pleasure flashes open.

"Well," with a long breath, putting on his cap, "I didn't think of aught
like this, yonder. God help us!"

He didn't know why he smiled or rubbed his hands cheerfully. His sleep
had refreshed him, maybe. But it seemed as if the great beauty and
tenderness of the world were for him, this morning,--as if some great
Power stretched out its arms to him, and spoke through it.

"I'll not be silly again," straightening himself, and buttoning his
coat; but before the words were spoken, his head had sunk again, and he
stood quiet.

Something in all this brought Martha and the little chaps before him, he
did not know why, but his heart ached with a sharper pain than ever,
that made his eyes wet with tears.

"If there should be a chance!"--lifting his hands to the deep of blue in
the east.

This was the free air in which he used to think he could find God.

"What if it were true that He was there,--loving, not hating, taking
care of Martha, and"--

He stopped, catching the word.

"No. I've slipped. I don't forget."

He did forget. He did not remember that he was a thief, standing there.
Wh